


I always want you when I'm finally fine

by gelatinousEyeballs



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirk Strider's Issues, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, HELL FUCKING YES, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Jake needs therapy, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Wait there's a tag for that, [S] Game Over, damn dirk why you got so many issues, dirk is very scared of sleep, good thing his ex he's still in love with is here to help, just mentioned tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelatinousEyeballs/pseuds/gelatinousEyeballs
Summary: "Sitting on an island counter with a half-deconstructed toaster in your lap isn’t how most of your mental breakdowns go, but those are never really consistent anyways."Your name is Dirk Strider. The game has ended, and you are terrified of sleeping.Title is from "I Bet on Losing Dogs" by Mitski
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	I always want you when I'm finally fine

Sitting on an island counter with a half-deconstructed toaster in your lap isn’t how most of your mental breakdowns go, but those are never really consistent anyways. 

Though, you’re not really sure you can put this in the category of Mental Breakdown, as those usually have the trademarked Letting Yourself Actually Cry For Once included, so this is probably better classified as Just Your Everyday Freakout. Well, your remarkably dry eyes may be due to the fact that you don’t really have a secure place you can go to hole away and hyperventilate for a few hours, without chancing someone walking in on you and judging you for being weak (which you do plenty all by yourself), or god forbid asking what’s wrong. 

After you won the game, You all made the collective decision to stay in one exceedingly large abode together, if only for the time being. At first, some objected, claiming that you should spread out to check on the different populations of the world as soon as possible, but you hadn’t (and still haven’t) figured out how to get the transportalizers to work, and splitting up with no real way to reconvene in case of emergency has Bad Fucking Idea written all over it. 

So yeah, not long after defeating several beings capable of destroying the universe and then some (and losing your head for the second time), you find yourself now living in an actual house, rather than an apartment with only one room, with 11 other people, surrounded by a city with thousands other other people, as opposed to just yourself in the middle of fucking apocalyptic nowhere.

Which has been. An adjustment. Honestly it’s been nothing but adjustments since you won. 

Like sleep. As a concept. 

Which leads you to where you are now, taking apart an appliance so simple you could’ve made it with your eyes closed since you were eight, in an feverish attempt to keep your brain firmly attached to consciousness.

You had similar anxieties at the very beginning of the game, but those lessened when you learned of the existence of dream bubbles from your friends (who you still haven’t talked to properly in days), and diminished completely when you realised how similar they were to your previous dual-consciousness experience. 

Having to actually sleep still fucked with your head a lot, residing you to heavy bouts of insomnia even then, but you managed. It was fine. 

Now that the game has ended however, so too have the dream bubbles, which means you’ll be regulated to the realm of normal ass fake dreams and just plain old unconsciousness, just like everybody else. 

The thought, of course, is absolutely terrifying. 

You realise you’ve been staring into space for the past 20 minutes, the toaster in your lap still in it’s half destroyed state (sorry Jane), dissociating just like you would when you were on Derse. Only now there’s nowhere to go but your own mind.

You’d call it ironic if the word didn’t bring bile to your throat these days.

Your alt-self’s abuse of Dave is still fucking with you tremendously. You know you’re an absolute monster of a person, but just the fact he’s your bro, the only person you love and care about that you actually expressed your admiration for. Does Jane know what a strong person you think she is? Does Jake know how much you wish you could be more like him? Fuck, does Roxy know that without them you probably would’ve offed yourself-

No, but any one of them could tell anybody how much you looked up to your bro, strived to emulate him. And you fucked him up more than anyone. 

You return to dismembering the toaster with more vigour this time. 

While your roof top conversation with Dave did feel like a repeated emotional stab to the gut, you really are grateful for it. Your friends cut you so much slack, but they don’t know what kind of person you really are, how much you really have (and probably will if you don’t fix the everything about you) hurt them. 

You’re not really paying much attention to your surroundings, which is unlike you. You’re so hypervigilant it’s borderline narcissistic. But it's 3 am, and you’re not too concerned about someone coming into the kitchen at this hour-

“Good gosh Dirk, what’re you doing here in the middle of the night?”

Shit. 

Remember when you said you’d been kinda avoiding your friends? You haven’t really… stopped doing that. Well, Roxy is working on the transportalizers with you and Jade (Who you honestly think is cool as shit and would actually love to be friends with. It’d be nice to have someone to talk robotics with who would really get it.), so you’ve seen plenty of them. And Jane and her dad insist on group breakfasts every morning. 

(You’ve also started to realise that your eating habits are very abnormal. Your stomach is much too used to nothing but rations, fish, and soda to handle all these homemade Crocker meals. You’ve also been tempted to throw some of your meals back up so you don’t become too dependent on a steady supply in case of emergency, but again, you’re living with 11 other people. One of which with super canine ears. So that’s not really an option.) 

So yeah. You’ve really only been avoiding Jake. Which makes this situation ten times more awkward than if it were anyone else. 

Wait. He asked you a question. How long have you been blue screening for? 

“Nothing much.” You say, eyes glued to the toaster like you actually need to concentrate on it. 

You haven’t looked up at Jake yet, but you can tell from your peripheral vision that he’s made his way over to the stove. 

Jake hmms as he opens the cupboard doors, eyes skimming boxes and jars of things that you don’t recognise, but you’re going to pretend you do. 

You can hear him filling something up with water, and you feel his eyes train on you as he turns his head around.

“Would you like some tea?” He asks, and you’re not even surprised. He’s not even actually fucking british. Jake grew up somewhere in the pacific islands, but you could play goddamn stereotype bingo with the man. 

You’ve never had tea before, and new foods are usually a fucking ordeal. But it’s mostly the textures that get you, and tea it’s practically just leaf juice. Plus you’ve heard it has caffeine, and you’ll take what you can get. 

“Sure,” you try and keep the exhaustion out of your voice as you speak. “What kinds you got?”

“Well,” you can hear him purse his lips in concentration as he riffles through the boxes of tea. “There’s no Fanta flavoured ones i’m afraid, but Janey does have some “citrus-melange” if that strikes your fancy.”

The fact that he remembers you like orange flavoured things shouldn’t make you as happy as it does. Anybody with functioning eyes (Or without, you suppose. Terezi did address you as Mr. Citrus Sherbet Delight before she left to go find her moirail) could tell you like orange things, get a grip man. 

“Yeah, that should still fit the Strider brand.” Did you really just make a quip? When you haven’t talked to him in days? God you really are out of it. 

You must not be doing ungodly awful though, because you hear him let out a light chuckle. It could just be to ease the awkwardness in the room, but you’ll take it. 

You totally don’t startle which the kettle starts whistling. And even if you did, no one can prove anything. Well, ok, Jake could definitely prove it. But he seems to be taking the tactful approach for once and not mentioning it. That or he’s equally preoccupied with his own mind. 

You hear him turn around and set your tea beside you. You can see his face out of the corners of your eyes (He’s seen your eyes before, but you don’t think you could handle any interaction these days without your eyes firmly covered behind your shades.). He seems apprehensive, as if considering something, then shakes his head minutely and climbs onto the counter beside you. 

His eyes fall on the now nearly completely destroyed toaster. 

“Blimey, is that Jane’s toaster? What’s the poor fellow ever done to you?” 

You respond to him whilst you separate some of the last remaining pieces of toaster into piles beside you.

“There isn’t really much tech wise to work with right now, at least not ones I could put back together by morning.” That would usually be a lie. Normally you could completely deconstruct and repair Mr. Crocker’s car in just a few hours, but you’ve found that your attention span is much worse when you’re so massively sleep deprived. 

Jake stirs his tea thoughtfully. “That’s true. I don’t think Mr. Crocker would take kindly to finding the kitchen trashed as a result of your 3am appliance escapades.” He pauses. “Which is a little odd, ever for you.”

You're too tired to think of a good reason or deflection, so you go with the age-old, “Why’re you down here makin’ tea then?” 

Jake stops for a minute, as is not expecting that, then proceeds to take a long sip of his tea. “Nightmares.” He answers simply.

You pick up your own cup of tea, a yellowish orange, as you try to assess the best course of action to take. It smells more floral than anything. You take a hesitant sip, and if you knew what they were, you’d describe the taste as mandarin and lemon blossoms. You don’t though, so you just take another sip. 

You could say nothing, as Jake’s not usually the one to try and fill awkward silences with even more awkward conversations, but you never really did give an answer as to why you’ve been sitting in the kitchen wrecking a toaster for the past few hours. He might prod you about that more, and you don’t trust yourself to be very convincing in this state. At least if you ask Jake about his dreams, you can steer the convo away from yourself. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Is what you settle on. 

Jake looks over at you, and as always you have to keep yourself from blushing, because his eyes have always done funny things to your heart. Not head to toe shoujo still blushing, never that (Well, almost never.). But any amount of blush is too much for you to exhibit. 

“Well, if I’m to be honest, I don’t quite remember most of it,” His fingers tap nervously on the side of his cup. “But I was being held captive in a cell by someone, I can’t remember their face.” He rubs at his cheek with his hand, as if trying to recall the events clearer.

“I couldn’t pin down their voice either, but it was so… familiar. And I could tell that I trusted this person a great deal, yet I was positively quaking in my boots!” 

His breathing sped up a little at that, but he looked over at you and slowed down again. 

“It’s quite fuzzy after that, but I woke up rather feverish and shaky, so I can only imagine it ended… y’know, the way most nightmares end.”

And curse your foggy ass fucking brain, because before you can even think you’re replying.

“I don’t actually.” 

He looks over at you again, much more confused this time. 

“By gum Dirk, you’ve not had a nightmare even once?”

Well there’s no going back now. Hopefully he won’t read too much into it. 

“I’ve never dreamed at all.” You say, as you take another sip of your tea. It’s not on par with orange soda, but it’d make a pretty good backup safe food. 

“Before the game I was constantly switching between my dream body and my real body, so I never really experienced actual…Dreams.” 

Jake’s turned towards you now “I know we’ve joked about such before, but geezum creezum your brain really doesn’t stop does it? How did you find the dream-bubbles then?”

“They were pretty similar to my previous experiences overall, though only having one body to occupy in general took a little getting used to.” 

“But you’ve been truly out of it unconsciously speaking, right?” Jake’s eyebrows are starting to furrow, and you know you need to turn the conversation elsewhere but goddammit you just can’t think. 

“...Yeah.” Horrible job. You’re miraculously awarded negative points, and are booed out of the stadium. 

Jake pauses for a moment, and you can practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

“Is that why you can’t sleep? I’d imagine the idea would seem pretty strange had one never experienced it.”

“Basically.” You avoid his eyes while saying this, but it’s not like he can tell anyways. 

Because it’s not really the whole dreaming part of sleeping that gets you, though it is a little hard to fathom. Ok, nightmares do kinda scare you. You already replay your worst moments and regrets in your head on the daily, but you have no clue whether you have access to splinter memories in dreams, and oh holy shit what if you live through your alt-self’s life with Dave-

...So maybe dreaming does scare you. A lot. But what’s really putting you in Freakout Central is the idea of being just. Completely powerless. For up to several hours. You’d have no idea what’s going on around you, and if something happened you wouldn’t be able to plan or fight or anything. You’re so used to having to be on high alert at all times, watching out for drones or fighting of assassination attempts on Derse, never giving yourself a moment to relax. How could you put aside entire hours to just lay there, open and vulnerable, swimming in your own consciousness. Or unconsciousness. 

Which is honestly the most terrifying aspect. Because what if dreaming for you is just an endless abyss of black, one that lasts both forever and a second, like it is for some people. What if sleep feels just like death has? Or, like you’d never existed at all? What if you experience that and you never want to wake up- 

You feel someone clasp your shoulder and you honest to god jump.

“-irk? Dirk are you alright???”

Oh. you hadn’t noticed yourself start to hyperventilate. You’re shaking from head to toe, and gripping your tea cup like you’re trying to strangle it. 

Jake is looking at you, and the amount of concern on his face feels like a hot knife to your mid-section. His hand is still on your shoulder, and it feels like it’s burning. 

You don’t think you’re capable of speech right now, so you take a shaky breath and give him a nod. 

He scoffs a little at that.

“Boy fucking howdy Dirk you are most certainly not okay, even I can tell that,” his face falls a little. “I didn’t realise the idea of sleeping scared you that much.”

You’re immediately tempted to deny it. Fear isn’t an emotion you’re allowed to express. But then the arm he had placed on your shoulder wraps around you, pulling you into his side. 

This shouldn’t be happening. You’re supposed to be distancing yourself from him. 

But you’re weak, you’ve always been weak for him, and you’re so fucking tired.

So you just give him another small nod as you lean further into his chest. 

Your breathing hasn’t slowed down at all, and you know he can tell. You try and focus on the steady drum of his heartbeat, savouring the feeling of his arm around you. He smells the same as he always has, earthy and soft and faintly of the honey-pumpkin soap Roxy gave him so many years ago. 

Fuck, you forgot just how warm he is. You take another deep breath, but it comes out shakey again. Jake hums in a way you can tell he’s frowning, and he wraps another arm around you, holding you tighter and softer than you could ever deserve. 

You stay there like that for a while, soaking in all that is Jake English. Your tea is probably getting cold. 

Your breathing has returned close to normal now, and Jake loosens his arms as you pull away. 

“Dirk,” he starts slowly, as if not wanting to startle you. “It’s been a good few days since the game ended. Have you not slept even a wink since then?” 

“...No” 

“Hmm. Well-” Jake pauses, “I’m not sure if it would help, I mean- crickey I’d hate to- well I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable-”

“Jake.” 

His gaze returns to you. “...D’you reckon it’d be easier to sleep if someone was there with you?”

What.

“What?”

And Jake must be tired too, because he’s never this direct if he can help it.

“Do you think it’d help if you slept in my room for the night?” 

Ok. That. You aren’t able to form a coherent thought about that. The extremely touch-starved part of you (only some of you) and the part of you that’s been in love with him for years (all of you) are nodding aggressively in agreement. You were only that intimate (not counting sex) with each other a handful of times when you were actually dating, god.  


“I- you don’t have to-” Are you actually stuttering? Fuck you’re weak.

He takes your hand and you blue screen again.

“Dirk. It’s ok. I want to help you, for fucks sake.”

You can’t do this while you’re still in love with him that’ll make every so much harder-

“...Ok.” 

God fucking dammit.

But Jake gives you a small smile, and you know you’d still walk through hell for him. 

He continues to hold your hand as he leads you up the flight of stairs to his room. You’re on the same floor, thankfully, so sneaking back to your room in the morning should be easier. You just hope no one else is awake at this god-forsaken hour. 

He pushes open the door to the room he’s staying in (They all look the same, and you’ve been putting off alchemising a printer just so he can’t put up anymore of his shitty movie posters. You’re doing the world a favor.) and holds it open for you. You step inside, attempting to make as little noise as possible. 

You try not look awkward as you stand beside his bed and fail miserably. Jake looks back at you, a little hesitant, and you give him a small nod. He takes that as a sign that you’re ok (He still cares about you, a voice inside your head tries to stay, but you immediately squash it down) and gestures towards his bed. You place your shades on his nightstand and clamber in, avoiding his gaze. You lay there, breathing, and you close your eyes. 

You hear him walk over, feel him pull the covers over you, and the gentleness of it almost makes you break down sobbing. 

Your body tenses as he climbs in next to you. It takes all the strength you have left not to jump into his arms and hold him tight, so he can never leave. Never leave you alone again.

But you don’t. 

(But you want to.)

“None of that, I think.” He mutters, as he pulls you into his chest. 

You inhale sharply, but he continues, wrapping one arm around you. You exhale as he cards the other hand through your hair. 

You can feel his breath against you. You can still smell the tea he just had.

Slowly, almost excruciatingly so, you begin to relax. You cautiously move your arms from in between you and wrap them around his waist. He resumes petting your hair. 

This is what you’ve been aching for. You’re sure you will always ache for it. For him. 

You won’t be his again. He’ll move on, find someone else. Someone better. And you’ll still be here, longing for nothing but Jake English, with nothing to show for it but a splintered soul and a breaking heart. 

You know this, and you still nuzzle your head into his chest and sigh. 

_ _ _

You wake up with your face pressed against the sheets. You inhale deeply, taking in the scent of comfort. Your head feels strange, and fuzzy. Your limbs feel as if you’ve been dragged through marmalade. 

Huh. So that’s what sleep feels like. 

You blink your eyes open, squinting as sunlight peers through the blinds. 

You look down to see your limbs intertwined with his, like he’s just as tied to you as you are to him. Jake’s hand is resting against your check, cupping it softly.

You are so fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> this is your daily FUCK THE EPILOGUES checkpoint (i haven't read em yet but im so scared please he cares abt his friends sm he just wants to be loved)
> 
> also dirk stop being an idiot and go to therapy pls
> 
> kudos and comments r very much appreciated <3


End file.
